Rejection
by Incubabe
Summary: MM SLASH. Oneshot. Jack needs some time alone but Sawyer isn't going to give him that luxury.


Jack walked up the beach purposefully, though it was too dark to see where he was going. Everybody else had fallen asleep but he couldn't settle. His eyes would not grow heavy and though his body was exhausted, his mind would not slow down enough to allow even a few moments rest. Satisfied that he was a decent distance from the camp, he dropped the bundle of wood he had been carrying and sat down next to it. He busied himself with arranging it appropriately and lighting it with the book of matches he kept in his trouser pocket. As the dry wood caught light, an ethereal orange glow swallowed everything around him. He instinctively glanced back; making sure his fire wasn't distracting anyone from their sleep.

The night was far too warm for a fire but he needed the light. He had never been a fan of sitting in silent darkness; he needed something to prove he was still alive. To prove that this was all real. He sat silently for a while, moving back slightly from the fire as it grew too warm and sweat began to appear on his forehead. He wished he could sleep. Wished that he could stop worrying about everybody else and focus on himself. Wished he could stop trying to be the hero. But it was an impossibility. He was no hero but he had been forced into the role and he couldn't let them down now. No matter how easy it would be to just turn his back, he couldn't do it. It wasn't in him.

"Sign of a guilty conscience," Jack didn't need to look up, he placed the drawling Southern tones instantly.

"What's that?" he said, his voice betraying his emotion. He was annoyed. He had wanted to be alone. He had wanted to be left alone.

"Can't sleep, right?" said Sawyer, sitting down next to him and lighting a cigarette. He inhaled deeply on it and blew out a cloud of smoke. Jack watched fascinated as it caught the orange light; it seemed like Sawyer was breathing fire. "Guilty conscience,"

"You're up too,"

"Yeah, but I never claimed to be innocent, Doc," he grinned and took another drag. Jack shook his head and remained silent. He was not going to be dragged into yet another war of words with Sawyer; he knew exactly what buttons to push and Jack was not in the right state of mind to take it tonight. He just wanted to be left alone with his thoughts, not trying to find comebacks to Sawyer's provocation. "You've got it tough, that's for damn sure," Jack stayed silent and watched Sawyer unscrew the lid of the Jack Daniels bottle he had been carrying. He took a swig and offered the bottle to Jack; he looked away. "All these people looking to you for answers, making you their saviour,"

"I'm nobody's saviour," said Jack quickly. "I'm nothing," Sawyer stayed quiet and Jack was shocked he hadn't leapt upon the opportunity to belittle him some more. It seemed to be his favourite pastime lately. But, Sawyer said nothing, merely offered the whisky bottle once more. And this time, Jack accepted it. He took a long drink from the bottle and swallowed hard, relishing the burn as it travelled down his throat and coated the inside of his stomach.

"You're doin' fine," said Sawyer suddenly. His voice echoing into the night briefly before they were plunged into silence once more. Jack turned and looked at him.

"Was that a compliment?"

"Aw, c'mon… I can be a nice guy when I wanna be," smiled Sawyer, the fire casting a glint in his eyes. Jack laughed harshly and shook his head. "Fine, I can play the bad guy too if that's what you want," He took a loud gulp of whisky from the bottle and slammed it down hard into the sand. Without warning, he pushed Jack down and straddled him. "You hate being outta control, don't ya, Doc? You hate not knowing what's going on; hate not being in charge,"

"Sawyer, get the hell off me," said Jack, his voice low and filled with warning. Sawyer ignored him. He leaned down until his face was just millimetres from Jack's, a tiny bead of sweat trickled down his chin and landed on Jack's face. He struggled in disgust at the feeling but Sawyer was strong and held him tight. "I mean it; get your hands off me,"

"What you scared of? Huh?" he teased. "You scared of little ol' me?" Sawyer leaned down again but didn't stop this time. He pressed his lips to Jack's forcefully; Jack could taste the slightly salty flavour of their sweat mingling. He surprised himself by stopping his struggles and letting Sawyer kiss him. Letting Sawyer take what he wanted. It was too late now. For all of them.

Jack could lie to himself. He could tell himself that it was drinking on an empty stomach; he could tell himself that it was the heady night air – all heat and no breeze. But he knew the truth, _both_ truths. He was desperate for human contact; not just the day to day conversation with the others, not just the briefest touch of Kate's hand but actual physical contact. He needed it, he had craved it. And right now, he didn't care who was kissing him – Sawyer, Kate, Shannon, Charlie – he would've taken it from any of them. And that was where the other truth came in, the truth that made him feel sick. Sick of himself and sick of this island. He was letting Sawyer kiss him, letting Sawyer use him because he didn't want to let him down either. He was so intent on making sure everybody was okay, so hell-bent on making this work that he would do anything to keep everyone happy. And if that meant putting up with the taste of nicotine and whisky as Sawyer's tongue worked it's way into his mouth then so be it.

"You just gonna take it?" asked Sawyer as he moved back. He stared down at Jack plainly, honestly, no cruelty in his eyes. "Who you thinkin' about? The princess or the brunette? Maybe it's the Korean chick. You like Chinese food, Doc?" Jack could sense the disappointment in Sawyer that his questions were gaining no reaction. At least, no verbal reaction.

Jack quickly moved his arms up and pushed Sawyer so hard that he went flying off him and landed in the sand next to the fire. He moved to his knees and dived on top of him, holding him down by the shoulders and practically snarling in Sawyer's face. He didn't feel himself, he felt carnal and wild and unhinged but he didn't care. Sawyer seemed to be enjoying the show and for some perverse reason, that was all Jack wanted. He wanted Sawyer to enjoy this. Sawyer was waiting, watching Jack intently and waiting to see what he would do next – if he would just roll off him and head back to camp or punch him hard in the face or kiss him as brutally as he had just been kissed. Jack didn't know. He hadn't any idea what his intentions had been when he jumped Sawyer, aside from getting control back. He hated that Sawyer knew him so well, knew exactly what got to him and what didn't. Jack hated responsibility but needed control, especially situations that made him nervous and Sawyer most definitely made him feel nervous.

"C'mon, Doc. Do your worst," goaded Sawyer, grinning up at him. In the light of the fire, he looked demonic and Jack wondered if they had all made a pact with the devil to survive this nightmare. He closed his eyes tight and slammed his mouth against Sawyer's, kissing him hard and cruelly. He didn't care anymore. He didn't care anymore. He didn't care anymore.

His hands buried themselves in Sawyer's dry hair, grasping it tightly as his tongue roved over his dry lips and into his wet mouth. That familiar taste of nicotine and whisky drowning him just as easily as the ocean could. Sawyer wriggled slightly beneath him and Jack could feel his cock pressed hard against his hip, he was surprised by it but not put off. He was aware of how wet they both were, the combination of the heat of the night and the fire had drenched them both in sweat. Jack's shirt was stuck tight to his back while Sawyer's was clinging to his stomach, clinging to every little ridge it could. Jack sat up and ran his hand across it, moving the damp material aside, entranced by the tiny, soft hairs running up Sawyer's stomach. He pulled the shirt open and leaned down, licking his skin. Sawyer moaned gutturally and arched his back slightly.

Jack had a million questions. He wanted to ask Sawyer why he was doing this, why he was letting Jack do this to him, how he could be such an asshole during the day but now, in the dead of night, become so compliant. It didn't matter anymore. He didn't care anymore. Sawyer's hands moved up to unfasten Jack's shirt buttons and Jack let him, watching as his fingers feverishly unbuttoned and moved fabric aside to expose Jack's torso. Sawyer ran his hands through the coarse hair of Jack's chest, running fingers over warm skin and smiling. He pushed Jack back hard; he fell into the sand with a thump but made no sound. He leaned back as Sawyer unfastened his trousers and worked them down until they were lying at their side, his hands recklessly pulling at Jack's boxer shorts until Jack was naked, bathed in firelight.

There was no comfort in his motions. No emotion in his movements. Sawyer gripped Jack's hard cock at the base and guided it into his open mouth; Jack gasped at the sensation and fell backwards into the sand. His hands grasping cold grains and letting them run through his fingers as Sawyer went to work. It didn't take long. He didn't care. It had been a million years since anybody had touched him like that; or it might as well have been. Sawyer moved aside and spat out Jack's spilt seed with no grace at all, he pulled a hand across his mouth and opened up the whisky bottle. He swallowed a huge gulp of fiery liquid and sighed.

"Forgot how bad that shit tastes," he said quietly. Jack looked up at him but he looked away quickly, swallowing another mouthful of whisky and standing up. He looked down at Jack, his eyes flickering for a moment. They almost softened. "What?"

"I… Did you?" Jack motioned to the obvious protuberance in Sawyer's jeans and immediately felt embarrassed for bringing it up. He felt like a kid and he hated it. Sawyer glanced down at his own erection and sneered, looking back up at Jack.

"Don't worry, Doc. I wouldn't want to offend your sensibilities," he said harshly. "I can deal with this myself," He threw the bottle of whisky into the sand next to Jack and stalked off into the darkness. Jack watched him go with something that felt like guilt. It gnawed at his stomach and he felt sick. He had done it again. He'd set out on a mission and he'd failed. He had been willing to do anything Sawyer wanted but it turned out, he wasn't needed. Sawyer had made sure _he_ was happy before rejecting him completely. His mind swam with confusion. He didn't understand what had just happened.

He continued to look out at the darkness, at the fast disappearing outline of Sawyer and then, he was gone. Jack sighed softly, opened the whisky bottle and took a drink.


End file.
